


Monster in the Well

by FrazzledDragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, Angry Merlin (Merlin), Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad father Uther, Best Mom Hunith, Child Abuse, Even tho it's not his fault, Forgiveness, Guilty Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), He's in there somewhere probably, I also forgot to write Killgarrah into this?, I kinda rewrote s1:ep1 to my purposes but used lines from the episode, Kid Arthur, Kid Merlin, Kinda canon compliant, Kinda not, M/M, Not graphic descriptions of violence but there is a little violence, Pre season one, Starts before season one and ends with the end of s1:ep1, if characters being physically harmed upsets you please be careful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 20:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19185016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrazzledDragon/pseuds/FrazzledDragon
Summary: Every Pendragon prince has to face the trial. The monster in the Well.The trial isn't spoken about, isn't explained, nothing.Arthur, only eight winters old, is going in armed with nothing but his confusion and a sword.His monster? Certainly not what he was expecting.





	Monster in the Well

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah i completely forgot about Kilgarrah? like I know he's in episode one? 
> 
> But I forgot him? 
> 
> Maybe I'll write more but no promises my dudes
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you like it :D

Arthur Pendragon, eight winters old, glanced up at the knight, decked in full ceremonial armor, as he lowered him down the Well. A glance up told him just how far down he had gone, and he gripped the rope even tighter. 

The bucket was small enough only one of his feet and the rope, fraying and slippery, was thicker than the handle of a broadsword. His sword, a short-sword made with lighter metal so he could more easily wield it, tinked against the bricks behind him, startling him. It was eerily quiet. 

He dared a glance downward. 

He could not see the bottom.

He could not have imagined how deep the Well went when he leaned on the weathered brick of the edge.

The test was that every prince in the line Pendragon completed. It was of utmost importance that he succeeded, Arthur had been told ever since he could comprehend words. This was the trial that determined whether Arthur was a true Pendragon.

There were monsters that spawned in the bottom of the Well. Every cycle of the moon, the king or queen of Camelot would go ask the monsters in the Well if they were to be blessed with a new prince before the next the winter. No one knew just why the monsters always knew why when there would be an heir, but they were never wrong.

Every prince, then, once they reached their eighth winter, would go and face a monster in the Well. They would go with no armor, only their sword. They would bring no food, no water, no tools. They would then find their way out of the Well, having succeeded.

Arthur had woken up that morning feeling confident, but as the bucket got lower and lower, and not a peep could be heard from below, his hands were starting to tremble. He had expected something to be snarling. Maybe breathing fire. Maybe wielding knives or swords or maybe a mace.

There was something horrible about the quiet, how he was so aware of his own breathing, how the rope creaked and the moss whispered in his ear. There were cobwebs every time his long blond hair into his eyes. It wasn’t hot, it wasn’t cold, it was somewhere right in the middle where he was sweating and shivering at all the same time.

Finally, when the small circle of daylight was almost invisible, the bucket touched down on something solid. Arthur couldn’t see a thing. Mustering as much courage as he could, he stepped out of the bucket, feeling around with his foot as he drew his sword. 

His father hadn’t told him much about this part.

Squinting into the darkness, his voice shaking more than he would have liked, he called, “Hello?” It seemed stupid, but he wanted to wake the monster, hoping to get this over with as soon as possible. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could go home and brag to Morgana that he was officially destined to be a good king.

“Prince?” A voice not much more mature than his own echoed around the cave. Arthur tried to point his sword at the source, but there was no way to know where the voice as coming from.

“I’m Prince Arthur Pendragon, seeking to defeat a monster in the Well!” His voice sounded nothing like his father’s, deep and commanding. Instead, he sounded like the frightened child he was. He tried to make it a strength - maybe the monster who he was seeking to defeat would underestimate him because of how youthful he sounded.

“Hello, Prince Arthur.” If Arthur didn’t know better, he could have sworn his monster was smiling as it said it. Fortunately, he knew better and monsters didn’t smile. Though, monsters couldn’t speak either, so maybe he shouldn’t completely disregard the possibility. His swordmaster would consider that idiotic and close-minded and the thought of being idiotic and closed-minded didn’t sit very well in Arthur’s gut.

“Are you my monster?” Arthur asked uncertainly, adjusting his grip on his sword, listening intently. There was running water, somewhere in the cave; he could hear it. His monster had to make  _ some _ noise, before it attacked.

Arthur heard quiet footsteps, but he wasn’t sure they were getting closer. “I suppose you could say that.”

“What  _ are _ you?” He couldn’t stop the question from tumbling out of his lips.

The monster chuckled somewhere in the dark. “A monster.”

“How am I meant to defeat you if I don’t know what you are and I can’t see you?”

“Are you sure you’re meant to defeat me?” The monster fired back, his voice teasing and light but tense all the same. Arthur shook his head.

“You’re my trial.”

“Oh, I know that. I mean are you meant to defeat me or simply succeed?”

Arthur frowned. Every trial he had ever heard of, ever read about had always ended in the defeat of whatever obstacle stopped the hero from succeeding. But, the longer he thought about it, he wasn’t sure his father or any of his mentors had used the word ‘defeat’ when explaining his task to him. “Aren’t they the same thing?”

“I don’t want to stop you, Prince Arthur.”

“I don’t care what you want!” Arthur snarled, but his mind was reeling. Maybe it was part of the trap, part of the trial, but he found himself…  _ believing _ the monster.

“What do they tell you of us, sire? What is your trial? Why are there never any princesses? What are we to you? Why do you even come down here? Are there not other monsters? I’ve never understood.” The monster seemed to realize Arthur wasn’t in the mood to be interrogated, and quickly added, “You’ll defeat me in a minute anyway. Might as well tell me first. It won’t do any harm.”

Arthur frowned even more, his sword tip dipping as his confusion sapped his focus from his stance. This wasn’t what he was expecting at all and it was only getting more confusing. “They don’t say much. Every king is sworn to silence on the details on his trial. We don’t send princesses because you can’t predict the birth of princesses. We can’t risk losing princes  _ and _ princesses. If I fail today, my father’s ward will take my place as heir to the throne.”

“Will she be tested like you?” The monster seemed genuinely curious.

“No. At least, not in the same way. Besides, if I’m not good enough, there isn’t a better option. She will be the best heir because she is the only heir. Besides, she’s almost as good as I am anyway. She would have figured out this trial already.”

“What do your people think of us? The monsters of the Well?”

Arthur thought for a moment on how to best answer the question. “My people don’t know of you. They know the Well is sacred to the Pendragon family, but they have no idea why. You are a secret tradition, a privilege of the ruling class that will die with my family.”

The monster sighed. “Do they not wonder? Does no one venture a peek inside?”

“Not really. The Well is guarded by three knights of Camelot at all times. I’ve looked inside once or twice, but no common folk are allowed close enough.”

“I would like to see the outside world someday,” the monster murmured softly.

“You’ve never left this cave?” Arthur asked incredulously, unable to imagine a life without sunshine. It didn’t sit well with him.

“My father says it’s too dangerous. People don’t like monsters. My father says they used to kill us on sight and almost killed us all.”

Arthur frowned. “Are you frightening to look at?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what you or your kind look like, so I can’t compare.”

“You can’t see me?”

The monster giggled. “Nope. I’m just a really good listener and you breathe really loud. Also, your feet make silly noises.”

Arthur was about to retort that it was hardly his fault if his leather boots made silly sounds on the damp stone of the Well floor, but a more pressing thought occurred to him and needed voiced. “I’ve read a lot about monsters. You don’t sound like one,” he said quietly, his brows furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

The monster giggled again, but this time it sounded more rueful. “Me neither. It’s why I asked why you bother coming down here. It’s not like I know what you’re supposed to be doing either. Surely, there’s more dangerous monsters than us.”

Arthur was beginning to wonder if the frown was going to be a permanent fixture on his face, like his father’s was some days, though Arthur’s was more of a confused frown than an angry or disappointed frown. “I don’t know.”

“I was just told that one day, when I was eight winters old, a prince was going to come down the well and how we interacted would determine the fate of us all, till the next in the Pendragon line comes down the Well.”

“You’re… You’re eight winters old?” Arthur stumbled, his eyes wide as saucers. “I’m eight, too.”

“That’s how we “predict””, Arthur could  _ feel _ the air-quotes, “your next heir. So far, as long as we can remember, the Pendragons have produced an heir alongside us. The cycle you were born, I was born too. I’m your age, and from the sound of it, just as well-informed as you are.”

“So… how we interact determines the fate of Camelot, but… How are we supposed to interact?” Arthur was the straightforward sort, who had taken his fair share of etiquette classes. If he was supposed to make friends with the monster, his mentor had him well-prepared to smile pleasantly at the worst sort of creature, no matter how he smelled or what he said or ate.

If he was supposed to end the monster, his mentors had him well-prepared for that possibility as well. But, he was finding he didn’t  _ want _ to destroy this creature. It wasn’t unpleasant to talk to, was his age, and talked to him like a human instead of a treasure. Nothing it said was devious or tricky, just plain speech.

“What’s your name?” Arthur asked suddenly. “Do you have one?”

The monster startled, apparently slipping a little. “Of course I have a name. I’m a monster, not an object. My name’s Merlin. Merlin Emrys.”

“Merlin, I don’t want to kill you,” Arthur said, with as much confidence as he could manage, praying his heart wasn’t leading him astray. If he failed this task, his father would disinherit him and Camelot would be plunged into an era of misfortune. “I’m not convinced you’re a monster at all.”

“And we’ve come back to the question we started with. Are you supposed to kill me at all?” Merlin’s voice was serious now, but not unkind. “I don’t want our people to be hurt. If killing me is the price that keeps them safe, I’ll pay it gladly. Do you bear a weapon?”

“It was the only thing I was allowed to bring,” Arthur murmured eventually as he sheathed the weapon at his hip. “I’m not going to kill you with it, though. Swords are meant to kill monsters. You’re not very monstrous.”

“Prince, if it’s me or your people and mine, you should pick the greater numbers every time, no matter the emotional price of choosing.”

Arthur frowned. He privately thought that was easier said than done. “I’m not sure that’s the trial at all.” In fact, the more he thought about it, the more sure he was. “What if this is used as a prediction for the future? If I attacked you without letting you speak, would that not make me the monster? To kill a creature without reason or need… That would tell someone a lot about the kind of person I am. If I spoke to you and still decided to kill you in the end, that’s another kind of person. If I talked to you and decided to not kill you, another. If I refused to even go down the Well, another.”

Merlin thought for a moment. “That kinda makes sense.”

“When was the last time your people saw the light of day?” Arthur asked suddenly, his mind racing. In his heart, he knew he was right. He had to be.

“I don’t know. Before the era of peace Pendragons have brought. Now, we don’t dare be seen above ground, because we would be killed on sight. The sight of us brings out the worst rage in regular people, the worst instincts. We could never live peacefully like we can down here.”

“But, you don’t bring out that rage in me? In Pendragons?”

“No Pendragon has ever truly laid eyes on a monster,” Merlin said, it’s voice dark but with what emotion, Arthur couldn’t tell.

“How is that possible? My father said his monster-”

“His  _ monster _ was my mother’s best friend, before your father killed him,” Merlin snapped, breathing ragged, and Arthur went very still.

“Forgive me,” Arthur murmured into the deathly quiet. “I didn’t know.” And it was the truth. His father had simply said it was possible to kill them, that they had a tangible and recognizable form.

The tension slowly leaked out of the cave as Merlin sighed. “I’m sorry. I know. It’s just not a pleasant memory for my people. Every prince is different. Every prince has a different reaction, a different impulse. That’s why my father tells me you aren’t told much about what you’re supposed to do, because every prince does something a little different. It’s the reason I was told to never let you see me. We…  _ I… _ don’t want to risk that rage.”

“I already told you, I’m not going to kill you. If I try, you are to take me down in whatever way you can. Use whatever strengths you have to your advantage. My swordmaster says I’m a natural with the sword, but I’m not  _ that  _ good yet. I don’t have the experience or the training under my belt yet.”

“You… You would rather die or come to harm yourself than kill me?”

“Every time.” Arthur didn’t tell Merlin his heart was pounding so hard it hurt at thought of dying, but it hurt less than the thought of killing an innocent creature, especially one that had been nothing but kind to him. Morgana would be a fine ruler in his stead, he was sure of it. “What makes you a monster?”

“I have magic.”

“Magic?” Magic was something of stories, of legends.

Merlin mumbled some words, words from a language he had never heard, and suddenly his ears changed, hearing more. He tried to ask Merlin what he’d done, but it came out as a donkey’s bray! As he felt his new ears, he really did have the ears of an ass!

His breathing caught in his throat as doubts flooded his mind. Maybe his heart was wrong, maybe Merlin truly was a monster and his price for trusting it would be horrible deformities for the rest of his life. 

Then Merlin murmured some more words and the ears vanished, and as he tried to speak again, he realized the donkey’s bray was gone. He sighed in relief. “What the hell?”

“Magic.”

“Is it only good for turning people to asses?” Arthur grumbled, a little ashamed of his panic now.

Merlin giggled. “Of course not. I just figured that’d be the quickest way for you to believe in magic.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I suppose that was rather efficient.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Merlin murmured a moment later, compassionate.

“I shouldn’t have panicked. My swordmaster would have been disappointed. Besides, I should trust you more than that.”

“But you just met me,” Merlin pointed out cheekily, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Yes, but I’d like to think us at the very least allies, if not friends.”

“Oh.” Merlin breathed, clearly shocked. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Alright.”

Both giggled quietly.

“I suppose you have to go,” Merlin murmured quietly. “Go back to your kingdom… and your father.”

Arthur shuffled uncomfortably. “Yeah, I do. He’ll be getting worried I failed. Do you know a way out?”

“Yeah… I can conjure up a trail for you to follow... or I can lead you there personally.” This felt like another test to Arthur, one that Merlin concocted by itself. One where Merlin didn’t want to say goodbye yet, and it was testing the waters to see if Arthur didn’t either.

And Arthur didn’t.

“I’d like it if you led me,” he said firmly, hoping he was reading between the lines correctly, or at least not  _ completely _ wrong. This kind of conversation wasn’t his strong suit at the best of times. “But I want to see your face before I leave. Especially if I’m never to see you again. I want to be the first prince to get a proper look at the monsters in the Well.”

“Only if you don’t freak out.”

“Deal.”

“Deal...” Merlin paused, stepping closer. “Take a couple steps toward me. The ground dips a bit, but is otherwise pretty flat. Then hold out your hand.”

Arthur did as Merlin said, feeling a hand, what he would have been pretty sure was a human hand had he not known it was a monster, soft and smooth, touch, wrap around his hand.

“This is you that I’m grabbing, right?” Merlin asked nervously, almost jokingly, squeezing Arthur’s hand a bit.

“Yeah, that’s me. And this is you?” Arthur squeezed Merlin’s hand back, relishing in the warmth of its skin. The cave was cool and wet, but Merlin was warm and dry. Not very monstrous at all.

“Yeah… Your hands are warm,” Merlin said softly, tugging his hand to get him walking. “The exit is this way.”

“Okay.”

They walked in almost silence for a long while, hand in hand. The sound of dripping water was their only companion. When Arthur’s eyes detected sunlight illuminating the cave floor ahead of them, he could have cried out in joy. 

But Merlin’s hand slipped from his and he could barely make out his figure in the darkness. He wasn’t much bigger than Arthur. If anything, Arthur thought, he was shorter and thinner.

“C’mon, Merlin,” Arthur encouraged gently, curiosity killing him. “You promised.”

“I did no such thing,” Merlin protested, keeping to the shadows. “Our people haven’t seen one another in decades, Arthur. As children, they tell us horror stories about the last time we viewed one another. We’re called monsters for a reason, after all. I’m… I’m just not so sure this is a good idea. If my mother knew what we were thinking of doing, she’d lecture us both for cycles.”

“I think it’s ridiculous and complete myth. We’ve got to try. You have magic. You can stop me, if need be. I can’t leave here not knowing what you look like. I just can’t. It’s silly to live in fear of the unknown. It’s silly to confuse fact and fiction. And you can’t tell me you’re not curious as to what I look like?”

“I know what you look like. You look like a clotpole with a complete disregard for oral history,” Merlin snapped, but took another step toward the entry. “You look like someone who has absolutely no clue what he’s talking about and doesn’t care.”

Arthur grinned, slipping his hand back into Merlin’s. “Clotpole must be a monster word. I’ve never heard it before.”

“Unfortunate, because it describes you perfectly.” Merlin takes another cautious step toward the light. “This is a bad idea. I can feel it in my toes.”

“Or this is a good idea and your toes don’t know what they’re talking about,” Arthur argued, glancing back at the fresh air and sunshine. He physically couldn’t wait to see Merlin in the light. He could feel the universe converging on this moment like an eclipse, where everything is in the right place at the right time. This is right, and he has never been more sure of anything in his life.

“You’re sure this isn’t going to end bad?” Merlin asked finally, sensing the boundary at his toes. If he stepped any further toward the light, he would start becoming visible to Arthur. He would be seen and would see.

“I’m sure. Trust me. We’ll do it together.”

Merlin took a step into the light, his feet landing in the pooling sunlight.

Arthur was struck how similar the feet were to his own. Certainly, they were paler than his ever had been, but they were  _ human  _ feet. No claws, no talons, no feathers, no fur, nor any other monstrous feature. Clean,  _ human  _ feet.

As nothing particularly earth-shattering happened at that first glimpse, Merlin stepped further into the light, which revealed baggy trousers, but nothing monstrous. In fact, if Arthur didn’t know better, he’d say they were a regular human boy’s legs, just like his. As the light revealed their torsos and then faces, the both of them made startling discoveries.

“You’re a human!” Arthur yelled, his gaze gobbling up every detail of Merlin’s face. His skin was pale and flawless and his hair, though poorly cut, was dark and wavy. The sunlight seemed to make him glow beautifully. Arthur couldn’t help but grin. This was no monster. This was a boy, just like him. A boy that Arthur had befriended and a boy he was determined to remain friends with.

“Or you’re a monster,” Merlin argued defensively, but couldn’t help grinning himself, shielding his eyes from the bright sun. Arthur found his grin to be  _ stunning _ . He never wanted to stop looking at it.

“Merlin, you’re no monster. You’re just a human with magic. Like a wizard or a warlock or something. Whatever the stories call you, it doesn’t matter. You’re not a monster. There is no blinding rage, no seething hatred. I’m still me and you’re still you. We’ve got to bridge the gap between our people!”

“How are we gonna do that? People have been convinced for ages that we’re monsters.  _ We _ have been convinced for ages we’re monsters.”

“I dunno… Maybe I can ask my dad-”

“Don’t!” Merlin snarled, and Arthur blinked. “Your dad is a  _ monster _ .”

Part of Arthur wanted to fight to defend his father’s honor, but part of him knew Merlin was justified and his dad made some pretty irrational and harmful decisions. So, instead, he simply skipped over the question entirely. “Maybe I can ask Gaius? He’s the court physician and he’s pretty trustworthy.”

Merlin blinked. “Gaius?”

“You’ve heard of him?”

“I knew a Gaius, once,” he said slowly, as if waiting to see if it was a joke.

“Grumpy, patient, long hair, really talented healer and very good at twisting words to his advantage?” Arthur described, definitely not joking.

“Odin’s beard,” Merlin swore softly, a lovely smile lighting up his face. “No way.”

“Gaius has served as excellent counsel and comfort for my father for many winters,” Arthur said proudly. “If he was your friend at any point, you should be very proud. He is a man worth aspiring to be.”

Merlin’s eyes widened with disbelief. “ _ No way! _ ” He exclaimed again, squirming with excitement as giggles pour out of his mouth. “No way…” His giggles slowly turned to laughter and his laughter turned to cackling, and for a long moment Arthur let him laugh without interruption.

“I don’t understand,” Arthur finally interrupted, unsure of this reaction.

“Gaius is a monster like me!” Merlin cackled with glee. “He’s a monster and the trusted advisor to the Monstrous King! This is too good!”

Arthur stared, dumbfounded, for a long time. 

“When I was very little, a monster ran away, out of the caves, toward Camelot. Uther was just getting his feet under him as king and was making some very rash and fear-driven decisions. His wife, your mother, I guess, had just died and you had just been born and he kind of went crazy with new bans and restrictions. Gaius volunteered to go find the monster and help bring her back to safety, but he never returned. We had assumed they both died. But Gaius, that crazy old fox, is still alive!”

“Would… Would you like to see him, sometime? I could take you to see him.”

“Yes, but it’s too risky. You can’t be seen with me, without risking both of our executions and Gaius’.”

“Would you like to see Camelot then? I could get a costume of sorts and you could not use any magic the whole time and we could explore the city together?”

“I don’t know…”

“Why not?” Arthur shot, trying to not sound too desperate.

“Why?” Merlin fired back.

“Because I don’t want to never talk to you again.” He paused for a long moment, just letting that simple truth hit bottom. “I don’t have any friends like you. I… I’m lonely. And… I want to be better than my father.” Arthur’s voice was soft and candid, and Merlin almost teared up as he grabbed Arthur’s hand. “I can’t today, but maybe next week?”

“You’re already better than your father. I’ll meet you here, next week.”

 

 

And so next week, Arthur finished his lessons early and snuck away to the cave, where Merlin was waiting for him.

Decked in long, concealing cloaks, the two boys wandered Camelot, linked at the hands. They walked and strolled, meandering through markets and playing hide-and-seek with the village children. It was almost supper-time when Arthur escorted Merlin back to the cave and left, with a promise of coming back next week.

 

 

And he did. He came back the next week, and the week after, and the week after. For many, many cycles of the moon, he and Merlin went on little adventures around Camelot. In fact, with the odd exception of when the Pendragons travelled, Arthur visited Merlin once a week for two winters straight.

Over the course of these adventures, the boys had grown very close. Arthur came to know everything about the monsters, and Merlin came to know as much as Arthur knew about people. Merlin learned all about what it was like to be the crown prince, and Arthur learned all about what it was like to not be royal. Arthur taught Merlin the basics of sword-fighting and self-defense. Merlin taught Arthur all about herbs and life in caves. Arthur learned that when Merlin did magic, his eyes turned gold like the sun. Merlin learned that when he did magic, something parallel thrummed inside Arthur, though Arthur didn’t seem to recognize it.

All the while, Arthur kept up with or ahead on his lessons so that his father would never find out. The scholars, though suspicious, never really questioned it. Gaius, on the other hand, subtly asked him once if he had ever thought about his monster in the well. Even more subtly asked him if he killed the monster.

Arthur, of course, lied and gave nothing but vague responses and got out of there as soon as possible. But he had a sneaking suspicion Gaius knew anyway.

 

 

Merlin, now ten winters, waited by the cave entrance in the warm spring sunshine. Gods, it was a beautiful day and he couldn’t  _ wait _ to talk with Arthur. His mother had found out about their weekly adventures and wasn’t upset! Lying to her about where he was going had weighed on his conscious for ages and having it off his chest was a huge relief. Maybe, Arthur would agree to meet her. Merlin may have been a little biased, but he was a firm believer that his mom was the best mom to ever mom.

He glanced up at the position of the sun in the sky. Arthur was late, far later than normal. Merlin shrugged, resigning to the fact that something came up. It happened sometimes; Uther would plan a trip and neglect to tell Arthur until the day before and be forced to go or Uther would plan an activity or meeting or party and insist on Arthur’s attendance. It wasn’t Arthur’s fault, and usually he was very apologetic and worried about it the next week.

Merlin smiled at the memory of the first time Arthur missed their weekly meeting. Merlin had, of course worried, but when he showed up the next week it was all forgotten. Arthur, however, was shaking with how nervous and sorry his way, almost in tears and simultaneously angry at himself. Merlin had had to hug him tightly and reassure him over and over that he understood and he wasn’t the smallest bit upset. Things came up, after all. That was how life worked.

That wouldn’t stop Merlin from waiting by the cave entrance until nightfall, though. Arthur was completely incompetent in the dark without guidance, after all, and the thought of him trying to make his way through the caves to get to Merlin made him a little queasy.

He picked at the grass, the rocks, and the dirt. He braided daisy chains and hummed every song he knew and made up a few. He made butterflies with his magic and had them put on a show. He transformed himself into a donkey and back into a mons- person. He was a person. Arthur had been trying to ingrain  _ person _ into his memory, as Arthur didn’t consider him or his kind to be monsters.

It made his something in his gut warm and fluttery. Arthur wasn’t good at affection, which Merlin knew was not his fault in the slightest, but this insistence was his way of showing he cared. That he was listening, that he valued him.

He did wait until nightfall, but Arthur never came. As it always did, it made Merlin nervous. He wanted to truly believe Arthur wanted to hang out with him, wanted to be his friend. But after winters of hearing that the people above ground hated his kind, that the prince would never trust him, never truly like him, it was hard to shake sometimes. Arthur, though he had managed to come see him almost every week, was an  _ excellent _ diplomat. He was honest and kind and loyal, but his face was easily trained into stone. 

Merlin was sure that Arthur could fool him if he tried.

He wasn’t convinced he wasn’t being fooled.

 

 

The next week, he was waiting for Arthur again. Arthur didn’t show.

 

 

He waited every week for the next winter. Arthur never came back.

 

 

For the first two cycles, Merlin simply worried incessantly. Was Arthur sick? Was he hurt? Was something wrong?

The next two cycles, Merlin refused to think about Arthur in any way. The funny part about not thinking about him was that he thought of nothing  _ except  _ Arthur for the entire month. What he might be doing. What he might be thinking. What might have happened. What he might be feeling. Who he might be with.

Then those thoughts, those feelings, that worry, turned to rage. Hatred. Betrayal. Hurt. Arthur and him were going to build something! Change the world as they knew it! Forge a bond strong enough to rattle the foundations of hatred and prejudice! All he wanted was a future where his mother could wander Camelot like he did, where his friends could see the sun, where they didn’t have to rely on their magic to see. 

And Arthur  _ threw  _ that away, absolutely discarded that incredible and beautiful hope he had kindled in someone who would have willingly died for him, died by his hand, and for what? What did Arthur stand to gain by playing him for a fool? Did he only do it to stroke his ego? So he could laugh in private with his royal friends at his stupid trial monster, who had been naive and stupid enough to believe equality, peace, and prosperity were possible at the hands of a Pendragon?

His mother and his friends tried to comfort him. None of them had met Arthur though, so none really knew what to say. And he knew many of them were hurt anyway, because Merlin spent so much time out of the caves and never once invited any of them. Most of them drifted away from him - either out of a residual sense of betrayal or because they got tired of Merlin’s perpetual anger at the crown prince. Being a prince’s monster was a great honor, after all. Even if the prince turned out to be more of an ass than his first impression implied. 

Soon, there were only two people who tolerated his existence in any amount. The first of which was his mother, the ever-patient, ever-caring saint Merlin always reminded himself he was blessed to have. Hunith never yelled at him, never blamed him, never stopped him from ranting. Only promised that if she were ever to meet this Arthur, she would slap him across the face for hurting her son the way he did. 

The second of which was his friend Will, who was angry too. Will didn’t waste time being angry at having never seen the outside world. It wasn’t really Merlin’s fault, after all. With the knowledge that their appearance was indistinguishable from humans made their own faults they never ventured into the light. Will was upset that despite this discovery, despite nothing but winters of peer pressure from dead people holding them back, none of the monsters were willing to try. When he tried to escape, to be free, to see the light at last, they had gotten so afraid that they had irrevocably stripped Will of his magic. Losing his magic broke Will’s spirit in many ways, because he refused to go out into the light without it. Especially as even with magic, his father had been killed in the outside world.

Merlin wondered sometimes if it was good to be around Will all the time; he reminded him of all the reasons he was angry, of all the things he fought against and for, and he was a constant source of familiarity and safety. Nothing Merlin said fell on deaf ears to Will, and nothing he said ever was repeated to anyone else.

But, on the other hand, Merlin spent so much time angry, he was never happy. When Arthur came every week, he was reminded of all the good things in the world too, and now that he was gone, he was left in the dark.

 

 

Two winters after Arthur failed to show his face, a flower, a purple hyacinth if the eldest monster in the cave was to be believed. Known to represent apology and a request for forgiveness. Once, Merlin’s mother suggested that perhaps the flower was a gift from Arthur. Not an excuse nor a plead for forgiveness, perhaps, but an apology, a reference to what had transpired between them.

Merlin had yelled and growled at her for suggesting such a ridiculous scenario, as well as the unlikelihood of such an event. More likely than not, some court lady was trying to woo a guard of the well and he had, in attempts to remove all association with this woman from his person, had simply chucked the flower into the well behind him and had done with it.

But, though he hated himself for it, he went to wait by the cave entrance the next day they would have met, but hoping more than anything that Arthur would meet him there. Instead, he found a basket of flowers, more purple hyacinth, and fresh fruit. There was no note, no markings, no personalization at all. No sign it even came from the royal family. Rage boiled in his gut.

Two winters without a word, without a note, without even the slightest hint of an explanation, and the best  _ heir of Camelot, Crown Prince Arthur _ can do is a wicker basket of flowers and fruit? He couldn’t even be bothered to meet in person? Or even leave a vague explanation? Or even  _ sign _ his crappy apology?  _ Really _ ?

He left the basket with the flowers and the fruit in the sun to rot.

 

 

Eight winters later, Merlin was an adult. He had yet to regain friends, yet to let go of this dream of freeing his people from the caves. He had yet to let go of the anger he harbored for the crown prince of Camelot.

Hunith, in a desperate but not completely idiotic or irrational attempt to bring sunshine and happiness back into her son’s life, snuck out of the caves one night and was back before anyone realized she was gone the next morning.

Several weeks later, the monsters had two visitors in the caves, late at night and Hunith was the only one awake to see them. The three talked long into the night, but the visitor was gone before sunrise the next morning. No monster nor human was any the wiser.

The next day, she approached her son in private.

“Merlin,” she said softly, her eyes scanning his face with such adoration. “I have… I have a surprise for you.”

Merlin kissed her gently on the cheek, the ball of light he cast hovering close so he could see her face. “You look excited! What kind of surprise?” As he had gotten older, he had stopped being angry around her. She didn’t deserve that kind of hatred, not when she was the brightest thing in his life and she worked so hard for him. Besides, he knew his rage made her sad, and he only wanted happiness for her as long as she lived.

“I’ve been in touch with Gaius,” she whispers, her eyes glistening with joy. “He’s offered to take you under his wing as his apprentice.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. He couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his features. “Gaius? Really? You mean, out of the caves?”

“This place is toxic for someone like you, Merlin. Someone of your heart deserves to be where they can shine and fight for what they believe in. Not where the dark threatens to keep you angry and alone. In Camelot, there are more opportunities for you! You can spread your wings! Grow! Make more friends! You can change the world. You can be happy.” Tears welled in her eyes as she said these words, and Merlin knew she meant every one of them. “You won’t be able to visit me very often, and I’m sure the other monsters will be very upset, but… You deserve this. You’re owed this freedom.”

Merlin couldn’t stop smiling. “I can’t believe it.”

Hunith smiled with satisfaction. “Believe it. I also contacted a friend of mine from a little ways beyond Camelot’s border. If, for any reason, they don’t believe you’re human and insist upon meeting your parents, there’s a woman in a little town called Ealdor who will swear up and down that you’re her son. Her name is Meredith, and she is a human whom Gaius is close with. She’s a powerful woman and an excellent liar.”

Merlin frowned a little at this, shaking his head. “I doubt she’ll be necessary. I can take care of myself.”

“Just in case.” Hunith stroked Merlin’s cheeks gently, staring into his eyes. “You’ll leave tonight. I’ll ensure no one notices for a good long while. I’ve already told Will and ensured he understands the need for secrecy. I hate to separate the two of you, and I offered him the chance to go with you, but he’s too scared to go without his magic.”

He sighed. “I wish I could change that for him.”

Hunith nodded, kissing his forehead, cheeks and nose. “I do too. The council acted irrationally then and without consideration for his age. He was just a boy and meant no harm. It doesn’t help that he’s completely right, of course.”

Merlin grinned strangely then, before gripping her in a hug. “Thank you, Mom. I cannot imagine a better gift than this or a better mother than you.”

Hunith smiled too. “You’re horrifically biased. Now, get packing. You’ve got a long night ahead of you. I have a map to Gaius’ quarters so you don’t get lost and a letter for him once you’ve arrived as well, so don’t let me forget to give them to you.”

 

 

Bright the next morning, Merlin was the first through the gates to Camelot. He had little more than the clothes on his back and the papers from his mother, but that was truly all he’d need.

He was shocked at how empty the streets were, but then he heard the clamour of a crowd and followed the sounds right to the front of the castle.

There was an older man in a crown standing high on a parapet, his face screwed with hatred and displeasure. Beside him, stood someone who Merlin recognized instantly. Arthur Pendragon. Anger and disgust twisted in his gut.

The feeling only got worse when he realized what was happening and what King Uther, as the man in the crown standing above the rest could only really be King Uther Pendragon, was saying.

“...This man, Thomas James Collins, is judged guilty of being a monster and using magic. And, pursuant to the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed that such practices are banned on penalty of death. I pride myself as a fair and just king, but for the crime of sorcery, there is but one sentence I can pass.”

Merlin watched with abject horror as the man in the middle of the square was beheaded. Then his gaze flicked to Arthur, who looked vaguely disgusted, but did nothing in the end to stop Uther, stop the murder of one of Merlin’s people. Just because he didn’t personally know the monster (there were dozens of cave systems with monster colonies in Camelot alone) didn’t mean he was any less horrified. It had been  _ ten winters _ and nothing had changed. Nothing. King Uther was still the Monstrous King.

Merlin thought he might be sick. 

Uther was still talking, but Merlin honestly couldn’t be bothered with listening. His mind was racing, trying to decide whether or not this was a mistake, as it wasn’t too late to go back to the caves, trying to decide whether or not he would seek out Arthur, trying to decide if murdering Arthur Pendragon would be a fair price for the murdered man’s life, when an older woman started screaming.

“There is only one evil in this land, and it is not monsters! It is you! With your hatred and your ignorance! You took my son! And I promise you, before these celebrations are over, you will share my tears. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a son for a son!” With a muttered spell, she vanished, her words echoing around the square. Uther was yelling for his knights to find her, people were screaming, everyone was running, but Merlin’s gaze stayed steadily on Arthur, who watched the chaos with an expressionless gaze. He wasn’t one of the knights scrambling, he wasn’t one of the onlookers screaming, he wasn’t his father, red in the face with rage. He was a blank, stone wall. No emotion. 

He looked tired, but Merlin shook his head. There was only one thought he had for Arthur Pendragon now, only one.

He intended to be there when the dead man’s mother killed him.

But first, he had to secure his lodgings.

Merlin disappeared into the crowd, trying to blend in and not make it obvious it had been ten winters since the last time he went into a city. He suspected he was failing, but he didn’t let it worry him. The worst they could do is kill him, and even that would bring a shard of satisfaction - getting to watch Arthur’s reaction, whatever it may be. Guilt, disgust, horror, satisfaction. Simply  _ knowing _ would be worth his death.

He was a little unsettled to realize that Gaius lived in the castle itself, but he wandered in regardless and quietly asked a guard for the court physician’s quarters. The guard pointed, and sure enough, he walked right up to the door. He knocked. “Hello?”

No response, but the door gently swayed open, so he wandered inside. “Hello? Gaius?” His words, however well-meaning, startled Gaius and he fell backward from the second floor. Merlin, not thinking, simply reacting, used his magic to shove a bed underneath him to cushion the fall.

Gaius, still in shock, rolled out of the bed, his eyes wide. “You must be Merlin!” He gasped. “You absolutely  _ cannot _ do that here! What if someone had seen you!?” Gaius bustled past him to close the door. “Did Hunith teach you  _ nothing  _ about Camelot?!”

Merlin ducked his head. “Sorry, Gaius.”

Gaius seemed to startle again. “There’s no need to apologize. Really, I should thank you. You did save me, after all. What spell did you use? I didn’t hear you cast.”

Merlin blushed. “I don’t need spells for things like that.”

Gaius frowned. “Of course you do. Did Hunith really teach you nothing?”

“My mother taught me lots of spells!” Merlin bristled, not particularly fond of the tone Gaius continued to use when talking about his mother. “She also told me I was the most natural monster she had ever met. I can cast spells in my sleep, spells I’ve never learned and can’t recite while I’m awake. She says it speaks to my old soul and my honor to be a trial monster.”

“You were Prince Arthur’s trial?”

Merlin tried to not let his lip curl too obviously. He wasn’t sure of Gaius’ opinion on the Prince and wasn’t looking to alienate the one ally he had in the city just yet. “I was.”

Gaius frowned. “I see…” The topic seemed to intrigue him, but he pushed it no further then. “Well, let’s get you settled in.”

 

 

The rest of the day entailed Gaius familiarizing Merlin with what he did as court physician and advisor to King Uther and the layout and geography of the kingdom of Camelot as a whole. Gaius also did him the favor of pointing out different shopkeepers and people around the city he knew to be monsters. The people that, if Merlin  _ had _ to do magic in front of, would be safe to expose himself to.

By the time the sun was low in the sky, Merlin was beginning to study basic herbs and drafts, his mind whirring with all the new information he was obtaining. He truly did love to learn and Gaius, he was finding, was easy to get along with. Despite his first impression being a bit… all over the place, Gaius was friendly, thoughtful, and very knowledgeable.

Merlin wanted to ask what it was like, living during Uther’s most monstrous winters as a monster in the open. He wanted to ask how living in Camelot hadn’t made him bitter, hadn’t hardened his heart and poisoned his tongue. He wanted to ask how Gaius could stomach advising and healing the man that killed so many of their people.

He figured those wouldn’t be good questions for their first day together though, and mentally set them off to the side for another day.

Finally, exhausted, he got ready for bed and collapsed on the cot in his cozy little room fast asleep. 

 

 

The next morning, Gaius gave him porridge to eat and quizzed him more on the extent of his magical abilities and their strengths.

_ How complex does a spell have to be before you cannot simply will it into happening? _

_ What kinds of spells do you do in your sleep? How complex are they? _

_ What do the elders in the cave under the Well say? _

_ Does it drain you more to magic without spells or with? _

_ If you are not limited by what your tongue can do, can you cast more than one spell at once? _

_ What is a difficult spell for you to cast wordlessly? _

_ What is the easiest spell for you to cast wordlessly? _

_ What spells do you know already, vocal or otherwise? _

_ How many winters old were you when you developed your magic? _

Merlin answered all the questions to the best of his abilities, a little flattered by the attention Gaius was giving him. His mother gave him a lot of attention in that she always listened to him, but Gaius gave him attention in questions and theories and excitement. Merlin got the distinct impression that though Gaius was well-respected and highly praised among the court and townspeople, no one really befriended him or listened when he spoke. For all that Gaius knew, he didn’t have many, or really  _ any _ , true friends he could count on. Merlin found himself relating to the sentiment.

He didn’t want to disappoint him.

Once he had asked all the questions he could think of (he promised to have more generated for later), he asked if Merlin would help him with some of the deliveries. Merlin gladly agreed and Gaius did his best to describe exactly where Merlin might find the recipients. 

And Merlin was on his way. He found the first on his list easily, the second within a few minutes, and the third just as quickly as the first. Camelot, for all its winding streets and narrow alleyways, was fairly easy to navigate, and even when he got lost, he was always able to find someone who knew where to go.

His finally delivery, though, was much more difficult. The Lady Percival was  _ normally  _ in her shop in the lower town, but she was nowhere near the shop and the young girl who was running the front counter had no clue where she went. The girl mentioned, though, that Prince Arthur and the knights were wandering the lower town, “training”, which very well might have distracted the Lady Percival. The disdain with which the girl said Prince Arthur’s name, Merlin knew this would be the perfect opportunity to confront Arthur.

And perhaps find Lady Percival. His priorities weren’t  _ completely  _ out of whack. Only  _ mostly _ out of whack. And even then, he considered his priorities quite adequately placed.

When Merlin wandered toward the ruckus, it didn’t take long for him to be disappointed. Arthur, with the grace and eloquence that can only be found in an utter asshole, was harassing the servant who was supposed to be setting the targets for him and his entourage of knights by throwing  _ knives _ at him while he carried the targets. 

Merlin rolled his eyes so hard that they almost fell out of his skull.  _ Really _ ? He was going to be an asshole to the  _ servants _ ?  _ Really _ ? The servants, who easily had the most access to his food and water and various poisons? Who could go almost anywhere in the castle carrying anything, and could go completely unquestioned?  _ That’s _ who he chose to harass? Not the knights, who couldn’t really do anything about it, and only had one brain cell collectively?  _ Really _ ?

So he was an asshole and an idiot. 

Merlin wasn’t entirely surprised. Scratch that; Merlin wasn’t surprised at all. Disappointed, perhaps, as if he had come to find out that Arthur was a saint, he might have felt a little bad about hating him for a decade. But, as it was...

It seemed fate was smiling down on him, though, when the servant dropped the target and it came rolling to Merlin’s feet. The servant scrambled to grab it again, but Merlin put his foot down, quite literally. 

“Hey, come on, that's enough,” Merlin said, making unwavering eye-contact with Arthur, who had suddenly become quite pale. He kept his tone light and companionable for the crowd - no need to ostracize himself on his first day in the city. Besides, Arthur would be able to see the malice, hear the threat. 

Arthur was stumbling, clearly trying to process what he was seeing. “What?”

“You've had your fun, my  _ friend _ .” Merlin almost choked on the word -  _ friend _ . As if they could be  _ friends _ after such a betrayal. After so long. After what Arthur threw away.

“Do… Do I know you?” Arthur stuttered, almost cowering as his knights crowded around him. Merlin looked every single knight of his entourage directly in the eyes. Most of them were too confident to know to look away. 

Merlin could beat them with a  _ thought _ .

“My name is Merlin,” Merlin purred, knowing exactly what was running through Arthur’s mind, behind those pretty blue eyes. “Merlin Emrys.”

Merlin could see Arthur’s panic, see his pleading. “So, I don’t know you,” he said quickly, clearly thinking it was obvious the two knew each other. Merlin struggled to keep from rolling his eyes again. He couldn’t make it any more obvious if he  _ tried _ .

“No,” Merlin agreed cheerfully, cramping a couple of the knights’ bladders without so much a change of expression. Their expressions faltered, but none made mention of the pain or discomfort.

“You called me friend…” Arthur was scared. And Merlin? Merlin was  _ living  _ for it.

“That was my mistake,” he all but growled, pacing a little closer.

“Yes… I think so…” Arthur practically whimpered, and if Merlin wasn’t mistaken, there were  _ tears _ pooling in his eyes.

“Yeah. I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass,” Merlin, once again faking a pleasant tone, grinned and turned to walk away. He caught a glimpse of a tall woman on the edge of the crowd who looked like how Gaius described Lady Percival. He made to go to her and get on with his day, as his business with Arthur was done for now, when the knights surrounded him.

“Nor Prince Arthur one who could be so stupid!” One of the uncramped knights sneered.

“Tell us, Merlin! Do you know how to walk on your knees?” Another of the knights (whose bladder was  _ very _ uncomfortable by this point) growled, and tried to hide his whimper as Merlin only increased the discomfort.

“No,” Merlin smirked, trying to hide his haughtiness. Arthur did nothing to come to his defense, nothing to save him from his knights, only confirming his suspicions. 

“Would you like us to help you?” Another snarled, a nasty smirk on his face. Merlin realized for a brief moment that he was severely outnumbered. Perhaps his bravado might need to disappear so they wouldn’t actually kill him. There was only so much magic he could do without verbal casting and only so much verbal casting without being caught.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Merlin said, absolutely ignoring the thought that perhaps it would be better to  _ stop  _ goading the knights.

“Why? What are you going to do?” Arthur asked, though Merlin suspected he sounded was considerably more horrified than he was intending to.

Merlin grinned even wider. “You have no idea.”

“Try it! He’s Prince Arthur and we’re the knights of Camelot!” Half the knights jeered, readying their swords for a fight, even though Merlin was completely unarmed.

“Kick his ass, sire!” The other half of the knights growled, though they also readied their swords, even offering Arthur their swords or knives.

Merlin waited to see what Arthur would do.

He blinked, and his lungs were empty and he was on his stomach with his arms held tight behind his back. “Don’t struggle,” Arthur hissed in his ear, voice too low to be heard by anyone else. “We need to talk.”

“Rot,” Merlin hissed in return, once he had regained his breath.

Arthur’s face twisted in a grimace as he hand Merlin to the nearest knight. “Put him in the dungeons until the stocks open up. Once the children run out of projectiles, release him.”

Merlin spat at Arthur, and tossed Lady Percival her herbs as he was dragged passed.

 

 

It was sundown when the village children  _ finally _ ran out of rotten fruit and vegetables and he was released from the stocks. Gaius gave him an earful, which Merlin listened to gracefully. He understood Gaius’ concern, understood why Gaius had to be so careful of who he let into his home and in on his secrets.

Then, Gaius told him to hurry and get cleaned up, because they had an event to attend. The best singer in Camelot was supposed to perform tonight, and King Uther was expecting his court physician’s attendance. And now, where the court physician went, so did Merlin. So, Merlin cleaned himself up and followed Gaius into a crowded hall.

As court physician, Gaius was required to make his presence known King Uther.

As crown prince, Arthur was required to stand beside the King.

Basically, Merlin made eye-contact with Arthur while he bowed before Uther, and the two older men made brief small-talk. Then Merlin obediently trailed after Gaius, as though nothing was wrong.

Privately, Merlin was considering the fact that if someone were to try to assassinate the crown prince, tonight would be an excellent night.

Merlin was sipping a fruity beverage, talking with another servant he had met and decided he liked, when someone touched his elbow. He turned, actually in a rather pleasant mood, and almost spat out his drink. Arthur was standing there, looking almost as nervous as Merlin thought he should look. 

“Can I steal you for a minute?” Arthur asked, aiming for polite but missing by a long shot. Instead, he sounded desperate and rigid, which was enough to make Gwen, the servant who Merlin had befriended, gape in shock.

Merlin smiled pleasantly at Gwen. “I won’t be a moment.” He then turned to glare at Arthur. “After you.”

Arthur, looking rather stressed and miserable, led Merlin outside of the hall, up some stairs, down a hallway, and then opened massive double doors, which Merlin quickly realized was a bedroom. Merlin crossed his arms and looked Arthur in the eye.

“Your bedroom?”  _ Really? _

“We… We need the privacy,” Arthur stumbled, his eyes pleading. “Please.”

Merlin flinched. Who was Arthur Pendragon to beg for forgiveness? “After you.” He would not turn his back to Arthur.

Arthur led the way inside. Merlin closed the door behind himself, the rage that had been left for the better part of ten winters bubbling up inside him at the sight of Arthur.

“You have every right to be upset,” Arthur started, his voice trembling a little. “Gods, you must hate me. You… You should hate me… Gods...”

Merlin released a snarl that didn’t sound completely human. He couldn’t make his mouth form words - the rage had consumed every last part of him and all he wanted to do was kill Arthur. He could do it too - one thought. That’s all it would take for him to block his air passages. Alone in this room, it was the only thought in his mind.

Arthur only seemed to break more at Merlin’s reaction, but his eyes, though watery, were assessing Merlin constantly. “I imagine you want to kill me. I don’t blame you. I… I can’t… I can explain…”

“Don’t bother,” Merlin growled fiercely, finally regaining his ability to speak.

“Merlin, you don’t understand!” Arthur yelped, his cheeks red. “I didn’t want to ditch you! I never wanted to leave you! It wasn’t my choice! I did  _ everything _ -”

“I don’t give a shit,” Merlin hissed, raising his hands. The spell wouldn’t need words, but he could use them. Make it more painful. Make it last longer.

“Please, Merlin… Let me show you. Let me show you why I never came back. Then… Then… if you still want me dead, you can kill me whatever way you please.”

Merlin’s eyes simmered gold with magic, his whole body shaking with rage. But, he lowered his hands. He could not imagine whatever Arthur was about to show him making any difference. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, they were blue. The rage, so tired of being caged and controlled, was leashed once more. “Deal… Show me.”

Arthur let out a relieved sigh, tears slipping down his cheeks. He bit his lip for a moment, before turning around.

Merlin frowned in confusion as Arthur reached behind his back and pulled his shirt off of him. In the dim light of the room, it took Merlin a moment to realize exactly what he was seeing and a moment more for it to really sink in.

Scarring, the worst scarring Merlin had ever seen in his life covered Arthur’s back. The skin was horribly misshapen and ruined, so much so that there was hardly any regular skin on his back at all.

“What happened?” He asked, stepping closer as though in a trance.

Arthur looked toward the sky, his voice breaking as he said, “One of the scholars told my father I was slipping away early every week. I was supposed to take at least one knight of Camelot with me wherever I went, and he asked all the knights to discover none of them knew. My father interrogated me about where I was going, but I wouldn’t tell him. That method lasted a week.”

Merlin stepped closer, picturing little Arthur, ten winters old, hardly any bigger than he was when they had first met.

“When it became clear I wouldn’t give you up, he put me in the dungeons. He had three knights guard my cell day and night. He told me he wouldn’t give me food or water until I told him where I was going and why. He wasn’t joking or exaggerating.”

Merlin shivered.

“I lasted three days. Then I begged him for water. He held a goblet of water just out of my reach and demanded I tell him where I was going and who I was meeting.” Merlin stepped even closer as Arthur drew in a shaky breath. He was a little less than an arm’s length away now, the scars on Arthur’s back drawing him in. “I… I told him. My head hurt so bad and I was so hungry I was nauseous… I sobbed… But I told him I had made friends with my monster… And so I snuck past the guards every week to go down the well and play with you. I told him I climbed back up the rope when we were done. That’s how my father escaped his trial, so I knew he wouldn’t question it.”

Which was why no one ever approached the cave’s mouth. Merlin’s hand hovered toward the scarring, his whole being entranced in the story. His fingers brushed against the scar tissue and Arthur’s whole body shuddered.

“He had me whipped. Twenty-five lashes. He had my leg broken so the bone stuck out of my calf. I… I was bedridden for cycles.” Merlin shivered again, his fingers tracing the scarring and his magic feeling the muscles and nerves underneath. If he wasn’t mistaken, the scars were still causing Arthur pain, even after all this time.

“As soon as I was able, I tried to see you again. I knew… I knew what you were thinking. Feeling. I knew you would be so… so angry, but my father didn’t trust me and put four knights on me at all times. And the knights were upset with me, because my father punished them for letting me slip past them. They got ten lashes each. They were so angry at me too, and made sure I got away with  _ nothing _ . Every breath I took and every time I blinked was documented. I didn’t dare try writing a note or sneaking out, not when they were watching me so closely.”

Merlin’s other hand joined the first, soft fingertips exploring mostly healed damage. Arthur’s breathing stopped for a moment, his body shivering.

“I started training day in and day out with the knights. I defended them before my father and fought on their behalves in civil disputes. I slowly regained their good graces, which influenced my father. When my father finally started trusting me again, I told the guards one of Morgana’s servants had misbehaved and I was going to punish her. They assumed that meant I wanted to… bed her, so they gave me privacy. For the first time in winters.”

“That’s when you sent the basket,” Merlin whispered, understanding. “Unmarked and without a note so that if anyone caught her, it wouldn’t be traced back to you.”

Arthur nodded, his whole body still and shaking all at once.

“I worried that if I crossed my father that seriously again, even after all these years, he’d disinherit me.” Arthur huffed a laugh without any humor, his head turned so he could watch Merlin out of the corner of his eye. “He came pretty damn close the first time, but blamed it on my childhood naivete. I… I hated it… Every day… every week that I didn’t go back, but I figured you’d hate me more if I threw away our chance of a better future to right my conscience now.”

Merlin let out a shaky breath. Every emotion, every thought that was flying through his mind had been put through a blender and he had no idea what to think. He didn’t know what he wanted now. Despite everything, Arthur’s words… Arthur’s scars…   _ Arthur  _ had changed his mind… or… at least… put him at enough of an emotional turmoil that he didn’t want to kill him right this instant.

“Are you going to kill me now?” Arthur asked softly, not a hint of fear in his voice. Slowly, he turned around - sad, scared eyes scanning Merlin’s face.

Merlin shook his head, once… twice. “No.”

Some of the sadness lifted from those clear blue eyes, though tears still streamed from them. “Okay,” he breathed. For a moment, they just faced each other and breathed, each working through their own thoughts and feelings.

“Do your scars still hurt?” Merlin’s voice didn’t leave room for questions.

Arthur bit his lip. “Yes. They ache constantly, but I’ve gotten used to them. Gaius says there’s nothing more to be done.”

Merlin frowned. Perhaps there was nothing to be done without magic, but that was hardly something he had a problem with. “Turn around.”

With a frown, Arthur did as he was told. Merlin pressed his palms against Arthur’s back. “This will hurt before it gets better,” was all he said before muttering a healing spell his mother used when elder Anaias had crippled his leg. Arthur yelped, heaving a deep breath, then calmed again as the pain subsided.

Arthur rolled his shoulders in amazement, wiping his cheeks. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“We’re not friends,” Merlin said suddenly, giving Arthur a critical look. “It’s going to take me a while to sort through my thoughts. I’ve been… rather angry with you for a rather long time.”

Arthur smiled warmly, with such great relief. “I can live with that.” He had noticed Merlin hadn’t excluded the possibility of them  _ becoming _ friends again, just that they weren’t there yet.

“For what it’s worth… I… I understand. What you did. Why you did it.” Merlin never imagined he would have said those words, walking in the room less than a half an hour ago. “I hated you for so long for what you might have done… But there’s no way I could hate you for what you did. I don’t… I don’t hate you.”

“It’s worth a damn lot to me, Merlin,” Arthur murmured, softer than before. “More than you can possibly know.”

Merlin chewed his lip for a moment. “We should probably go back to the party. We might miss the singer.”

“And my knights will be getting anxious. They trust me a lot more now, but they still get nervous.”

“Gwen’ll be wondering how I know you and what you could have possibly wanted me alone for,” Merlin realized with a twinge of concern. “That’ll be fun to explain.”

Arthur chuckled, taking the first steps toward leaving the cozy room as he pulled his shirt back on over his head. Merlin noticed his movements were more smooth and easy now, and almost smiled in satisfaction. “Tell her you were the one the basket was for. She’ll understand. She’s the one who delivered it, after all.”

Merlin cocked an eyebrow. “Gwen?”

Arthur nodded. “She’s Morgana’s servant and gets a lot of days off. And, most importantly, she’s a good woman and is very trustworthy. If you find a friend in her, you’re doing well for yourself.”

“I’m… glad… you forced me to listen,” Merlin said quietly, his words firm. He held his hand out to Arthur. “It was needed.”

“For me and you both,” Arthur chuckled. “I needed to tell you so bad it was beginning to cause me physical pain.”

They wandered back out to the party, Merlin finding Gwen and Gaius and Arthur slinging his arm around a couple of knights, right in the line of sight of his father.

Gwen looked at him strangely. “What was that about? And how do you and Arthur know each other?”

Merlin chuckled. “I wondered how long it’d take you to ask.”

She waited expectantly.

“We’re old friends. He asked you to deliver a basket to me a while back?” Merlin’s eyes twinkled as her jaw dropped.

“It was to  _ you _ ?!” She gasped, her eyes wide.

“None other.”

She composed herself then, smiling in delight. “No wonder you’re so pale, then.”

He smiled too, and watched as the singer took the stage and the rest of the room went silent.

 

 

And before he knew it, he was shoving Arthur out of the way of a thrown knife and taking down his attacker. 

His mind and body were so shot by the emotional roller-coaster of a day he’d had that when  _ King Uther _ named him Arthur’s manservant, it took a whole thirty seconds for him to understand, and another thirty seconds (fortunately he left Uther’s sight before this time was up) to burst into hysterical laughter at the pure, unadulterated  _ irony _ .

Arthur cracked up too.

Then started listing off his duties as manservant, and Merlin stopped laughing.


End file.
